


These Little Joys

by clarinetchica, MrsNoggin



Series: These Little Joys [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Johnlock - Freeform, One Shot, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:12:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarinetchica/pseuds/clarinetchica, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Visiting Santa is a tradition every child has at Christmas. What happens when John and Sherlock try it with their children? The first in a series of Parent!lock adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting Santa

**Author's Note:**

> _Authored[Clarinetchica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/clarinetchica/pseuds/clarinetchica) and beta-ed by [MrsNoggin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsNoggin/pseuds/MrsNoggin)._
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to GoodOldJames. And yes, we did name one of the children after you! 
> 
>  
> 
> _  
> **HAPPY CHRISTMAS!**  
> _

John stretched his neck from side to side and wondered what why he had ever thought this was a good idea. Erin clutched at his right hand while James slid lower on his hip. Hitching him up, John settled James in the crook of his arm. Sherlock had run off when they had arrived with a cry, “John- look!”

The trio walked through the crowded area, searching for the centre of the madness that was shopping areas at Christmas time.

“Papa!” Erin tugged on his hand, “There’s the line!”

She towed him over to the gaudily decorated fake gingerbread house, joining the queue. Tinny music filled the air- instrumental renditions of traditional Christmas songs. The area was filled with children, sniffling and yelling, which was probably the real reason Sherlock had disappeared.  While he loved his own children immensely, he tried to avoid other children.

So John stood alone, desperately trying to keep track of Erin as she tried exploring the fake gingerbread house, the four-foot candy canes, the glittering artificial snow. This was one of those moments where John wished they had a leash for the wriggling James. John finally had to let him down or risk him diving head first onto the floor. Capturing James as he tried wandering off again, he turned around to realize that Erin had disappeared.

  _Shit_ , he thought vehemently, scanning the crowd, panicking as he sought out _his_ Erin. There were dozens of blonde children, but each one seemed attached to an adult. About ready to dash out of line to more thoroughly look through the seemingly endless fair-haired girls, John heard a smooth baritone voice from behind him.

“Tsk, tsk. You’ve only been in line for ten minutes and have already lost one child.”

John whirled around, finding Sherlock standing calmly with Erin. “I wouldn’t have lost her if you had been here to help,” he snapped, after breathing a sigh of relief.

“I thought I made it clear at the flat that this was one experience I did not think we needed.”

“And _I_ thought we agreed that our children wanted to do this, so we would.”

Sherlock sniffed and looked down his nose at John, who glared back, silently reminding Sherlock to behave.

“Excuse me,” the women with three children behind them said, nodding at the space in front of the two men. Sherlock and John moved forward, their children getting more and more excited as they came closer to Santa. John deposited James into Sherlock’s arms in attempt to keep both of them from wandering off again.  Erin bounced up and down, her pigtails swinging back and forth.  

“Dad,” she said to Sherlock, “why is the elf taller than papa?”

He barked out a short laugh before managing to hide his glee.

“Elves aren’t supposed to be tall!” James added.

John glared at Sherlock, convinced that he had been coached, but he returned John’s glare with an all too innocent look.

They finally reached the corralled area that held Santa, and the too-tall elf led their family over. John looked at the man incredulously; he couldn’t have been more than 25, his fake beard strung up behind his ears.  Erin clambered up first, sitting calmly in Santa’s lap, whispering in his ear what she wanted for Christmas. John strained to hear, even though he knew Sherlock had probably already deduced it. She smiled sweetly as she slid off to allow James up.

As soon as James sat on Santa, John recognized his expression as the one that he had come to dread the most. James had his innocent face on, the one he had learnt from Sherlock when he was in trouble.

“What do you want for Christmas?” the young Santa was aiming for jolly, but it came off as slightly creepy. 

James grinned up at him, “Sometimes my underwear gets stuck up my bum-bum.”

Santa barked out a short burst of laughter, then quickly stifled it with the back of a gloved hand. John stood there with his mouth open in shock, completely frozen to the spot for a second. He quickly stepped forward to grab James off of the man’s lap, feeling his feel his face flushing with embarrassment.

Before John could remove his youngest, Santa quickly leaned forward and whispered, loud enough for John to hear, “Do you know what? Sometimes that happens to me, too.”

With a wink, he held James out to John, who stood there, absolutely mortified. He quickly took charge of James, leading him over to the lady at the computer to look at the proofs of the pictures they had taken. Sherlock was already there, and John could see him trying not to laugh.

Erin’s picture was lovely; she beamed up at Santa, who had his ear down to listen to her request. James’ picture, however, was less so.  Santa had one hand pressed to his mouth, looking up, mirth showing as James grinned at him.  In the corner of the picture, John could see his own hand from when he rushed up to grab James. Looking at the pictures, John couldn’t help but laugh. It seemed to describe his children perfectly – Erin the sweet girl and James the slightly crazier boy.

Even as Sherlock was pulling out his wallet to purchase the photos, John looked at him beseechingly, “Will you promise to take us all to get _proper_ family pictures soon?”

“Of course, John,” Sherlock agreed, tucking Erin’s small hand in his own large one.  The four of them wound their way out of the area, avoiding the crowds as much as possible on the way out.

A year later, John would admit freely that it was one of his favorite pictures of James, but for now, the four of them walked down the street toward their flat, he just wished for a nice, _normal_ , picture of his family. 

 


	2. Erin and Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Erin gets a little overexcited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to my beta MrsNoggin

The first time John noticed it was at her third birthday party. Erin had been so excited about the party in their small backyard that she had not been able to say “Dad.” It came out as “Thad” instead, despite having called Sherlock “Dad” properly for over a year. John found this hilarious. Sherlock, however, did not. He spent the entirety of Erin’s birthday part trying to correct her speech and failing miserably. Sherlock secretly thought that she had been coached by John, who only wished he had thought of that. 

The second time John noticed it was on Erin’s first day of Pre-School. Mrs. Hudson had taken care of both her and James when John and Sherlock were on cases, bless her, but Erin had always stayed with one of the adults in 221 Baker Street. This was Erin’s first time leaving the flat without John, Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson being there. She was excited to meet other children, and to be a “big girl,” as she phrased it. As John was helping her dress, she kept calling him “Daddy” instead of the usual “Pop.” He gently corrected her a first, insisting that she call him “Pop,” but she was too excited to focus on what he was saying. Sherlock found the whole thing hilarious, telling John that it served him right. 

It wasn’t until the third time it happened that John realized that Erin might have a problem with names when she gets excited. This time it was Mrs. Hudson. Erin was four, and getting ready for her first sleep over. Even though it was only with Aunt Molly, she was thrilled to pack up her things and head over for a night of girly things. Mrs. Hudson had stopped by to pick up James for the night, and Erin had run over, excitedly exclaiming “Mrs. Pudgeson!” Mrs. Hudson had doubled over, holding on to the doorframe as she shook with laughter- both at the name and at John’s face when he realized what Erin had said. John had stammered apologies and made sure Erin could say “Mrs. Hudson” correctly before she was allowed to leave for Aunt Molly’s. 

Over her first five years, Erin had messed up names when she got excited. It became less frequent as she got older, however the more delighted she became, the greater the possibility she would call John something like “Poppy,” or Sherlock “Dada.” Sometimes she would even call them a variation on their actual names, like “John-Pop” or “Locky.” They had tried curing her of it, and as she got older it improved, usually just changing John’s name to “Papa” instead of “Pop” and Sherlock’s name to “Daddy” instead of “Dad.” 

One day after Erin had called him “Dada”, Sherlock proposed an experiment to John  
“But John, it’s nothing terrible,” he tried to persuade, “I would just hide Bun-bun for one night, just to see if it’s simply excitement or if it stems from anxiety, too.”  
“Sherlock, I will absolutely not have you experimenting on our children!” John had a hard time not shouting, Erin and James were sleeping upstairs.  
“It’s not a harmful experiment.”  
“It doesn’t matter! Bun-bun is the only reason she sleeps at night. Erin hasn’t slept a night without her since Mrs. Hudson gave it to her.”  
“But it might help up determine whether her name problem is purely joyful excitement or of if anxiety causes it as well.”  
“I don’t care what it will determine. When we adopted, you promised that you would not experiment on our children. What you are proposing is an experiment. And if I find you have done this when I’m gone, I will be angrier than you have ever seen me.”  
Sherlock sighed dramatically. “Well, if you don’t want us to-“  
“I don’t want you to. Ever.”  
“Fine,” Sherlock spat, turned around, and stormed into their bedroom, slamming the door. John listened for movement upstairs, afraid that their fight had woken the children, but fortunately there was no sound from upstairs. He looked at the couch, wishing he didn’t have to sleep there, but it was late, and he was tired. He laid down, pulling the small blanket they kept in the living room over him.  
Sherlock never apologized, but John woke up with a larger blanket tucked in around him. He knew it was the closest to an apology he would get. 

John finally realized Erin might need some speech therapy after a particularly embarrassing moment when she was in Pre-School. John received a phone call from her teacher Mrs. Dennis telling him that he needed to come pick up Erin early today. John, afraid that she was sick, rushed to her school. When we arrived, he found Erin sitting in the time-out chair, looking dejected.  
“Dr. Watson, hello.” Mrs. Dennis greeted him, drawing John away from the children sitting on the floor, who were listening to a story.  
“Hello Mrs. Dennis. What’s wrong?” he asked her teacher, confused as to why he was called when it was obvious Erin was not ill.  
“Erin had a bit of trouble today. I’m sure you are aware that we have story time every day. Well, a child gets to pick which book we read. Today was Erin’s turn.”  
“Yes,” John prompted, curious as to why his daughter was currently sitting in the corner by herself.  
“Well, Erin became very excited,” Mrs. Dennis dropped her voice to a whisper. “She called me Mrs. Damnit.”  
John’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? Mrs. Damnit?” He was torn between embarrassment and mirth. He was fairly sure it had to do with her problems with names, but it’s also possible that she had heard John say it at home.  
“Yes,” she said solemnly, “I’m sure you understand how inappropriate this was. I understand that you may use that language at home-“  
“No, I assure you, we don’t,” he lied smoothly. She didn’t need to know that John sometimes had trouble controlling his language.  
The look on her face showed that she didn’t believe him. “Yes, well, Erin will have to stay home for a few days.”  
“She’s being suspended?”  
“Only for three days.”  
John sighed, knowing that arguing with her would get him nowhere. “Yes, well, I suppose I should take her now, right?”  
“Yes, please,” Mrs. Dennis looked so relieved that John wasn’t sure that was the only reason Erin had been suspended. He collected Erin and they left. 

When Sherlock heard about what Erin had done, he couldn’t suppress his laughter, even when John glared at him. And while Erin received speech therapy, when most excited she still made mistakes with names. However, none were so bad as “Mrs. Damnit.”


End file.
